Treading lightly, I tell him, “I used to shove hibiscus lemon cookies under her nose when she was in one of her episodes too long for my liking.”
He lets out a deep belly laugh. “Youwillneed to meet my Rowyn, then. That granddaughter of mine can whip up anything, and it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tried.”
“Hearth Witch?” I ask, while skimming over another page of town history.
“Mhm,” he confirms. “Don’t have visions much myself, but I had one on the night of her birth… She’d be the strongest in the family in the last hundred years. She’s destined to bring great changes to Briarhollow.”
Snorting, I glance up at him. “No pressure,right?”
With a rueful smile, he shrugs. “Never told her about it—and I promised her parents I’d keep it secret.”
A witch with such great abilities would show symptoms of that early, especially one who comes from such a stable line of fire magic.
“Do you think she knows?” I ask and stand up.
His uneasiness is acidic, leaving a burning sensation on my tongue as it rolls down my throat and settles in my gut. It’s more potent, more alert, than any of his other emotions I’ve picked up.
“Her? No, no,” he says with a shake of his head. “We can’t fight the fates though.”
There’s an ominous tone to his words, but I also get the impression he isn’t willing to say more.
He pulls one of the books closer to himself and opens to a random page. I try to focus on what I was reading again, but I can’t get one question out of my mind lately.
“Gale,” I start. “Why did you hire Sybil and me? I mean, how did you even know we were here?”
Slowly he looks up, meeting my eye. “I just knew. I didn’t think I needed to explain that toyouof all people.”
His tone is more serious, even a little guarded, than I’ve heard before. I’m not picking up on any anger, so I push forward.
“You don’t have to, but I’m aware that usually comes with a deeper meaning.”
He assesses me for a long moment before asking, “What do you know about Briarhollow? And the history this town has with the Vexley family?”
My brows furrow. “Only as much as I was able to gather from the books you loaned me, which wasn’t much,” I admit with a bitter bite. His brows shoot up in curiosity, so I continue. “Whether it was a betrayal or an act of spite, my family is to blame for a lot—the curse, murdering the former owners of the inn, and maybe even for the deterioration of Briarhollow as a whole.”
One of the books mentioned the Dreaming Willow Inn is the heart of the town, so it makes sense why it feels stuck in time and forgotten if any of the needed designations aren’t in sync with the others.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess that sums up the most common beliefs about what happened here.”
A small spark of hope courses through me, one I’ve never felt in relation to what could be the truth on this matter.
“The common belief? As in, you’re familiar with theuncommonone?”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Sure, though my late wife and I are some of the only ones who believe so.”
“And what is that belief?”
“That things aren’t always what is believed—and my perception has never let me down.”
“Like maybe,” I start hesitantly, “Barrett wasn’t at fault for their deaths?”
He shrugs, not giving anything away by his expression.
With that, Sybil pushes through the doors, hands full of food. She begins to pass out our meals while I think about Gale’s words.
My perception has never led me astray either—when I don’t try to block my connection to it—and it always felt like there was an important piece of the story missing. One that could potentially be the evidence that proves my ancestor’s innocence.
As I’m about to take my first bite, still distracted by my spiraling thoughts, Sybil snaps into a straight posture and says, “It’s time.”
